


Dust and danger in the west are great conditions for romance

by orphan_account



Category: Young Avengers
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4914250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amerikate western murder mystery au for cheezygoddess on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust and danger in the west are great conditions for romance

**Author's Note:**

> If you see any glaring errors, let me know! Aside from the general lack of racism or homophobia or sexism, because if I was being historically accurate regarding that it would be depressing. Hope you enjoy!

"This is interestin'," America remarked, slapping the papers she had been looking over down on her desk, making a loud smacking sound. She rose from her chair, regarding the man in front of her with a suspicious squint as she pushed the large oaken chair back under the old rickety desk.

"Why would the sherriff need to be hirin' someone like me to work on a case like this here?" She asked, swishing her customary toothpick from side to side in her mouth with a sneer. The man in front of her, one sherriff Steven Rogers, just chuckled, not at all fazed by America's tough-as-nails and strong-as-whiskey demeanor. "Detective Barton is... too close to the case. Ol' family friend, and what-have-you. So we need someone outside to look into things, ya see."

She did see. The husband-to-be of the richest heiress this side of the Mississippi had been shot.   
She looked at the statement from the investigating officer, one Ted Altman, a second time. "Once, eh. Nice n' clean and easy." She glared at the paper like she was tryning to burn a hole in it with her eyes.  
"Miss Kate Bishop has an alibi, that Stark gala, see," Steve stated.

America smirked. "No suspects, eh." She bared her teeth. "Ya must be lucky, ya have yourself one P.I. that loves a good chase," and she held out her hand for Rogers to shake.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Later that day, she was at the usual tavern with her partner-in-solving-crime, per say, one P.I. David Alleyne. They called 'im Prodigy 'cuz the boy knew damn near everythin', even being somewhat of a whippersnapper compared to America.

"I'm gonna settle this hash. They think they can get away from me? Hah. OR my name's not Chavez, I'm telling you."

"We'll see how the cat jumps, scare up a suspect or seven," he answered, placating. America was the duo's sturdy scrapper, and while David could score off or scrap with the best of 'em, he was a magician at puzzles and calming folks down.

"This whole thing is a gottamn bag o' nails," she near-growled, then downed her whiskey in one pull before slamming her glass back down on the bar counter.   
"I'd drink to that," David replied, and did so.   
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dusk fell as America trotted her horse up to the Bishop publishing building. Miss Bishop had wanted to meet her, instead of at the family mansion, for reasons she hadn't explained. Not that America was complaining- last thing she needed was to ride her rather snuffy horse Utopia up to the big ol' mansion and be awkwardly surrounded by rich folk. No thanks; she never did too well with rich folk.

Her first thought upon laying eyes on miss Bishop was that she was one helluva hen. She wore black, in honor of the recent tragedy, the very reason for America's presence, but not a tear dried on her face and she carried no hankerchief; her dress hung happily on her hips and neck, the fabric sparkling like the inky black sky, and America thought that if propriety were personified she'd unholster her handgun and shoot it at an instant.

"Miss Bishop," she said, dismounting Utopia. The lady smiled. "Miss Chavez." Then she cocked her head, and one strand of raven-black hair fell across her face. America fought the urge to brush it away. "I think we can be on a first name basis, given the... context of the situation," Miss Bishop- er, no, Kate, America now thought- replied with a smirk.

America pulled her toothpick from her mouth and dropped it on the ground, scuffing her boot over it and kicking up a little red tornado of dirt. "Kate. I'm America, then. Sorry bout the loss." She had always been bad with commiserations. That was David's piece of the pie, but she hadn't brought him with her for this meeting with the heiress. In hindsight, she wondered why.

America was taken aback when Kate just waved her hand, a bubble of laughter forming in her throat. "Don't give me that kettle of shit," she spat bluntly. "You should know I didn't give a rat's rear about him and I didn't even want to marry the damn fool. Glad he's dead. Did the world a service, whoever beefed him." Kate smiled, daring America to do or say something. What, exactly, the detective was unsure of.

"For an heiress, you sure can air the lungs," America chortled, gaining even more respect for the respected heiress.

"You're the first person I told that to, you should know. It was a marriage of convience, that'd be all. Father must not be wanting me to run off with the first belvideress that smiled my way." She smiled at America, and held out a lace-gloved hand to beckon her into the brick publishing building. "C'mon in." America followed like sheep to a sheepdog, but found she didn't mind it much.

They got right into the thick of it. America was always diving into a pool headfirst, even the shallow ends. With Kate, though, the blunt and brazen tactics were well recieved. The heiress wasn't fazed a smidge.

"You hated Mister Nate?" She asked, legitimately puzzled. Kate shrugged, a noncommittal motion with one shoulder, a quick rise and fall where her black silk slid down and revealed an all-too-alluring expanse of plae white skin. America gulped.

"Didn't hate him. I did not care for him at all. Apathy, if you will, but the thought of being married to such a scoundrelly speeler.... He certainly wasn't anyone I'd want to ride the river with." With this last remark, Kate raked her eyes over Ameriuca, and caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Speeler? This beliked belvidere, a gambler?" America wished she could say she was aghast, but the puzzle pieces were falling into place faster than the leaves fell off the trees in the autumn.

Kate shrugged again. "Yes, quite. I'm not some washed-up broad; I know about two-plus-two, and he was a speeler if there ever was one, I tell you."

America snapped her fingers. "That shady son of a-!" She gazed off to the side, in her own head, talking at the wall. Kate shifted. "Who now?"

America turned back to the heiress. "I bet you my last drop o' gin that he owed that sleazy scoundrel Loki! Trickster, seller of snake oil, damn him!" America laughed, and Kate looked puzzled.

"Rogers and company've been wantin' a reason to put that bastard in the lockup, never prove a thing, but he's behind this as sure as the sky's blue... and as sure as the fact that you're the finest woman I ever seen," America finshed, the last part of the remark in a lower voice, smiling at Kate. Kate was beaming, and America thought that if her smile got any brighter it'd blind the sun itself.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------  
A dawn later, Loki'd been put behind bars where he belonged. A sting operation by Rogers and Altman was all it took, slick as a whistle. Belly-through-the-brush was one matter, but keeping a stone face when confronted with two strapping officers of the law was another, and the trickster was quick to plea and spill the beans. As it turned out, Nate Richards had owed a lot of people a lot of money, and Kate's father was angrier than a hornet without honey that he had almost made a marriage to a broke gambler under the facade of a potentially prosperous union.

America did bemoan to David the fact that Loki'd probably give everyone the slip somehow, as he was "the type of snake to slither right into and back outta a trap built for a hog", but David just assured her the problem was wrapped tighter than a mail parcel and poured her another skid. They were in a grungier tavern, celebrating their case well closed, and David was surprised to see Kate practuically sashay into the tavern, wearing a bright shade of purple.

America grinned ear to ear. "Princess!" She waved her over, and the heiress giggled at the nickname. She sat next to America and put a hand on her arm, leaning forward slightly and smiling.

"I'd like to thank you, Miss America," she said playfully, "For everything you've done for me... Is there anything that I..." her hand had travelled to America's hip, and then her thigh. "...Could do... for you?" Her voice had dropped significantly in tone, becoming sultry and more intoxicating than any whiskey, brandy or gin that America'd ever let pass her lips. David was smirking knowingly, leaning back to give them space.

"...I can think of a few things," America laughed, and thw two were already standing up to leave the tavern.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr @superhero-hoe for @cheezygoddess.


End file.
